Signs of Life by viva_gloria (R)
Apr. 17th, 2011 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
danceswithgary posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: John Sheppard
Characters:: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex
Pairing: None
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Warnings: Highlight: Major Character Death
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
viva_gloria
Author's Website:
Link: Signs of Life
Why This Must Be Read:
This is a darkly gorgeous, heartbreaking mystery that slowly unfolds as John journeys across an alien landscape. I don't want to reveal any more because I don't want to ruin your journey of discovery along with John.
Excerpt:
He's got nothing, nothing that'll tell him what he's doing here, why he's alone, where his team are. They wouldn't have left him behind, he's pretty sure of that. When he shouts their names, nobody answers. The radio's still silent. Which leaves ... no way are they all dead. No way. He'd remember ... why can't he remember?
"Crap," says John to the empty air.
His head spins when he looks up at the sky. Maybe the air's thinner here. There's nothing to see: just that violet-blue sky, little white clouds drifting across it towards the impossible mountains. Nothing to navigate by, nothing to orient himself.
He looks around, checking out his surroundings. The desert makes him think of Afghanistan, but it's bleached and empty. No dunes, no cover, no vegetation. Just the white sand and the white pebbles on the beach.
The river looks darker than he thinks it should, and where it laps the stones it leaves them stained. He staggers to the edge of the water, drops to his knees, dips a dirty finger into the slow flow. Spits out bitter and salt and metal. He knows the taste, but he can't remember what it is. Not potable, anyhow.
Slowly he becomes aware that someone's crying nearby. Crying quietly, as if they're trying not to be heard. A child? He looks up.
Teyla's standing on the other bank. She's wearing her BDUs and there's a P90 slung over her shoulder. The light catches her tears and makes her face gleam in the dim light.
"Teyla!" John yells. Thank Christ. Thank God she's alive, he's not alone. She hasn't left him behind.
She's looking right at him but it's like he's not there. She's still weeping silently. Maybe she's not real. Maybe he's not real.
"Teyla!" he shouts again.
This time, he's sure, she hears him. Her mouth opens, and it's as close to an ugly expression as he's ever seen on Teyla's face.
"John," she says thickly, and it sounds like she's standing right next to him. "John. I am so sorry."
"What is it? Teyla, talk to me!"
She's crying again, just standing there on the other bank, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth to hold in her grief. What's happened? What's wrong?
The beach across the river's the mirror image of the one he's standing on. The river itself isn't that wide -- ten yards max, and moving pretty slow. It's not going to be a problem. John steps forward, feeling the pressure of the current against his shin. One step, two, and Teyla's mouth opens like she's going to say something: then fuck he's off his feet, bashing against the sharp and stony riverbed, thick liquid filling his nose and mouth (blood, it tastes of blood) and stinging his eyes, can't get his footing, can't fight the current, can't work out which way's up ...
It's like being in a washing machine. On spin. He's tumbled and slammed and turned and twisted, and by the time the river spits him back out onto the beach all he can do is lie there gasping and retching.
"John," comes Teyla's voice across the water. It's not water. "John, I am so sorry. I am so very sorry that we must say goodbye."
...
Rec Category: John Sheppard
Characters:: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex
Pairing: None
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Warnings: Highlight: Major Character Death
Author on LJ:
viva_gloriaAuthor's Website:
Link: Signs of Life
Why This Must Be Read:
This is a darkly gorgeous, heartbreaking mystery that slowly unfolds as John journeys across an alien landscape. I don't want to reveal any more because I don't want to ruin your journey of discovery along with John.
Excerpt:
He's got nothing, nothing that'll tell him what he's doing here, why he's alone, where his team are. They wouldn't have left him behind, he's pretty sure of that. When he shouts their names, nobody answers. The radio's still silent. Which leaves ... no way are they all dead. No way. He'd remember ... why can't he remember?
"Crap," says John to the empty air.
His head spins when he looks up at the sky. Maybe the air's thinner here. There's nothing to see: just that violet-blue sky, little white clouds drifting across it towards the impossible mountains. Nothing to navigate by, nothing to orient himself.
He looks around, checking out his surroundings. The desert makes him think of Afghanistan, but it's bleached and empty. No dunes, no cover, no vegetation. Just the white sand and the white pebbles on the beach.
The river looks darker than he thinks it should, and where it laps the stones it leaves them stained. He staggers to the edge of the water, drops to his knees, dips a dirty finger into the slow flow. Spits out bitter and salt and metal. He knows the taste, but he can't remember what it is. Not potable, anyhow.
Slowly he becomes aware that someone's crying nearby. Crying quietly, as if they're trying not to be heard. A child? He looks up.
Teyla's standing on the other bank. She's wearing her BDUs and there's a P90 slung over her shoulder. The light catches her tears and makes her face gleam in the dim light.
"Teyla!" John yells. Thank Christ. Thank God she's alive, he's not alone. She hasn't left him behind.
She's looking right at him but it's like he's not there. She's still weeping silently. Maybe she's not real. Maybe he's not real.
"Teyla!" he shouts again.
This time, he's sure, she hears him. Her mouth opens, and it's as close to an ugly expression as he's ever seen on Teyla's face.
"John," she says thickly, and it sounds like she's standing right next to him. "John. I am so sorry."
"What is it? Teyla, talk to me!"
She's crying again, just standing there on the other bank, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth to hold in her grief. What's happened? What's wrong?
The beach across the river's the mirror image of the one he's standing on. The river itself isn't that wide -- ten yards max, and moving pretty slow. It's not going to be a problem. John steps forward, feeling the pressure of the current against his shin. One step, two, and Teyla's mouth opens like she's going to say something: then fuck he's off his feet, bashing against the sharp and stony riverbed, thick liquid filling his nose and mouth (blood, it tastes of blood) and stinging his eyes, can't get his footing, can't fight the current, can't work out which way's up ...
It's like being in a washing machine. On spin. He's tumbled and slammed and turned and twisted, and by the time the river spits him back out onto the beach all he can do is lie there gasping and retching.
"John," comes Teyla's voice across the water. It's not water. "John, I am so sorry. I am so very sorry that we must say goodbye."
...
